Triggering Trauma
by darkangelwp
Summary: AU. Hoping to find some way to cope with Superman's rejection, Superboy ventures out of the Cave. Doing so, however, brings the clone into contact with a power that the world has forgotten. The power of Persona. But can Superboy handle the pressures of being both a hero and a Persona-user? One thing is for sure, his Journey begins when he pulls the trigger. After Ep. 5. CROSSOVER
1. Chapter 1

I have no idea why I do this to myself. Young Justice/Persona crossover kind of…

Future slash, so, if you don't like you can go away. Pairings have yet to be decided.

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**_"The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed..."_**

Chapter One-Journey's begun…

He hated this feeling, this heavy feeling in his chest. It was like he was carrying around this weight that he couldn't let go of. Superboy, or project Kr, moved around the Cave, restlessly. Everyone was gone. It's been a month since he was freed from Cadmus and he was alone. He didn't know where Miss Martin went. He only knew she wasn't here and hasn't been here for the past few days. The quiet was clawing at his ears, in his head. He paced the halls just so he could hear his own footsteps. But he couldn't hear anything. There were no heartbeats he could focus on. There is no cluttering in the kitchen that could distract him from his thoughts. He reached up and grips his hair, tugging just enough that the stabbing pain pulls him away from the silence that stalks the clone.

Everything was different. There was no pod. There were no scientists. There was no Superman…

His skin itched. But no matter how hard he scratched or how often he cleaned and washed, there was just that feeling that something was slithering underneath his skin. Sometimes, he feels the urge to do something. He doesn't know what. Something dangerous and painful but he's always been able to bring himself back from that precipice. He used the team, Canary, missions, the static from tv, to focus his attention. He hasn't been able to do that for the past few days and Superboy was finally reaching his limit.

He surged away from the training room where his feet had led him. Superman had turned away from him. Superman ran from him. Everyone kept telling him to be patient that the hero would come around. Superboy wasn't so sure if he believed them anymore.

So, he left. He left the Cave and made his way to the more populated part of Happy Harbor even though he was never given permission to leave. His steps were hurried. Superboy didn't look back or over his shoulder. He didn't want to see back into the world that he wasn't really a part of, the world that Superman didn't want him to be a part of. Superboy found his eyes were starting to sting. He stopped to touch his face and found it wet. His blue eyes widened. He knew what this was; he knew was it meant to cry. But he never thought that he would be one to cry, over Superman. He wiped his face with his hands but that did nothing to hide evidence of his turmoil. His eyes were bloodshot and puff, his cheeks flushed.

Superboy continued on his way into the city. It was nearing sundown and off in the distance, the clone could hear children laughing and music. Superboy followed the sound because it was loud and boisterous and alluring. His long strides lead Superboy toward a carnival. He doesn't know what they're celebrating and he doesn't care. He finds an open bench and sits down. Superboy leans back on the bench and lets the clamor of his surroundings to consume him.

He tries to find the resolve to let Superman go. He searches deep within himself to find the commitment to move forward without the Man of Steel.

"I don't need him." He whispers to himself, "I don't. I don't…"

Superboy feels his face get wet again and can't seem to find the energy to brush them away. So, centered on his own agitation, he completely misses when someone joins him on the bench.

"You have traveled far…" a voice speaks to him.

Superboy's head snaps to the person next him. The person is strange. It is a man, an old man. He is hunched over and wearing tattered clothes. His coat is old and has patches of fabric sown together. The man's face is wrinkled and they fall over the man's eyes. His face appears to be drawn into a state of perpetual sadness, his lips pulled down into a frown. The old man is shuffling a small deck of cards.

"…but the hardest part of any journey is always the next step." He offers the deck to Superboy, spread like a fan.

He makes no other movements. He is as still as a statue. Superboy sits there, frozen, staring at the cards. He tries to think like Batman and Robin but his head hurts from the crying he's done. The back of the cards were purple with a neutral mask shaded black and white in the center. There was a lyre in each corner and at the bottom was the phrase, "memento mori". For a moment, his mind clung to that phrase, urging him to consider it. But he couldn't really think, couldn't really see the words beyond the fact that they were on the card. He lifted a hand…and plucked a card but he didn't really feel it. He didn't feel anything at all.

The card he chooses depicts a person standing with a walking stick trapped within a sphere and a massive looking scarf of some kind arches itself over the person. On the bottom is the roman number for twenty, "XX". He didn't know what it meant.

"The Aeon Arcana…" the old man whispers, "…how fitting for one such as you."

Superboy stared at the old man, trying to understand, to comprehend but his limbs felt so heavy. Everything, every little movement cost too much energy, too much effort. The clone felt tired.

"Your Journey will be one filled with strife…" the old man continued, "but should you strengthen your resolve, give chase to your dream then the rewards are yours to possess."

Superboy is distracted by the card in his hand. It starts to glow a bright white and blinds him to his environment. He can see nothing. He can hear nothing. All around him is white. Then it changed. Everything started to hurt. The pounding in his head became unbearable. It tore at his eyes and robbed his voice. It blazed a trail, burning beneath his skin, eating the things no one else wants.

Like someone flicking a switch, the pain is gone. The light is gone. He is on the bench in the city. The card is gone. His hand is still glowing, pulsing with the same white light, runes etched into his skin. On his palm, were two shimmering X's, the roman number for twenty. A light sheen of sweat broke across his body. He felt cold. He felt hot. He was short of breath and his legs were shaking. Superboy looked up. The old man was gone.

The clone stood up quickly and stumbled. He searched frantically through the crowd before he found him. He hurried through the crowd but his body was lethargic, like it wasn't sure what to do. Superboy couldn't really understand what was happening to him. But the old man did. He knew so Superboy had to catch him.

So busy chasing the elusive figure that Superboy failed to notice how the field started to empty or how the stalls started to close. He missed how dark it had gotten or how quiet. He only stopped when he turned a corner and realized that the old man was gone. There was no one anywhere. The streets were deserted. In fact, they were abandoned. He fumbled with his hearing, trying to listen to any retreating footsteps, only to hear nothing. It was as if there was never any carnival to begin with.

Superboy turned around and around and around. The night was quiet. It hummed with a sense of wrongness. He could tell there was danger nearby but he couldn't tell if it was for him or running from him. It baffled him. For all that he was the clone of Superman, none of the hero's powers helped him. He was helpless and didn't even realize it.

He rushed down the street, hoping to find some clue or hint but what he found was three monsters. Superboy could describe them as nothing else: monsters. There three of them. One looked like a person wearing a jester's hat with two giant shadow-like hands wrapped around it. The last two looked like lions chained to a giant ball. The person said nothing but the two lions growled. Superboy roared and leaps near the closest one. He punches the animal once, twice, three times before he's tossed aside by the other one.

As Superboy skids across the concrete ground, the lion shakes his head and roars at the clone. The jester gives a high pitch twisted laugh. The clone couldn't describe it, couldn't describe how wrong two voices could sound so alive and yet dead. The nearest he could compare would be the Joker and yet, a part of him found that the Joker paled in comparison to this…thing.

Then it attacked. The hands opened and released a massive stream of ice. If it had been normal ice, it wouldn't have so much as scratched the Boy of Steel but this wasn't normal ice. It tore through his clothes to render muscle and tissue disabled. Shards of ice imbedded themselves between joints and burned whole areas of sensitive nerves. The lions rushed in for the kill. Superboy had just enough vigor to dodge the first strike aimed at his face but he couldn't sidestep the one that landed on his side. Superboy was thrown clear across the street again with the sound of his ribs breaking ringing in his ears. He tried to land on his good side but found himself on his back in excruciating pain.

Superboy lifted his head and tried to stand but was stopped by the sight of his own blood. It was everywhere. He left a trail in the ground from where he landed all the way to where he was laying now. His arms had gorges in them from when he blocked the majority of the ice. His shirt was barely hanging on and heavy. There was a massive gash on his lower abdomen and it was still bleeding. There were also several large pieces of ice still lodge in his left leg. He could hardly move it. His right leg fares only slightly better. His thigh was frozen and he had a fracture. The bone was sticking out of the skin. He took a deep breath to brace himself only to choke. Superboy turned on his side and spat up blood. His broken ribs pierced one of his lungs. The clone wheezed. He steadied himself using his arms he couldn't really comprehend how severely injured he actually was.

"Wont..lose…" he rasps. He couldn't call for help. He had left the comm back at the base. And he knew Superman wouldn't answer his call for help. He never will. "I can…save…myself…"

It hurt to breathe, to move. But Superboy tried to stand anyway. The agony that his body endured was beyond anything he had ever encountered. It was beyond the limits of what his mind was telling him he could handle. Superboy began to see dark stops in his vision but viciously fought them off. Yet, for all his strength Superboy could not stop his body from giving out. He collapsed.

He dreamed. There were golden castles and barren fields. There was an ice fortress and a tropical island. Superboy dreamed of pale skin and wings. There were greens and blues. He dreamed of a butterfly.

"_Awaken_…" a voice calls out, "…_And take my hand_…"

When Superboy opens his eyes, there is a blue butterfly sitting on his right hand. It flutters its tiny wings before dissolving, leaving behind a glittering blue light. That light condenses underneath his hand and takes shape. When the light disappears, there is no blue butterfly, but there is a gun. The young hero gives a surprised start. There is a gun in his hand. He isn't sure if what he is seeing is real or not. The gun looks like an ordinary pistol. It is entirely silver with a black and golden hand grip. There is no safety. It gleams unnaturally. The light that it was born from covers the gun in tiny and indiscernible runes. It spreads to his hand, his arm. He doesn't drop it or let it go because it feels soft and safe and warm.

Superboy forces himself to his knees, a hiss escaping his clenched lips. There was something there. His bloodied hand seized the gun in a vice grip. It was important. He needed it against the monsters. The questions he had, he knew he'd find the answers to if he used the gun. Superboy didn't know how he knew that.

"…_Do not be afraid_…"

That voice reverberated around him, inside his head, along the street. The monsters turned toward him again. They bellowed together, assured of victory. But Suprerboy was stubborn and afraid and determined and suffering. Superboy let his body go, let it move on its own. He pushed down the part of himself that cared about Superman or Canary or the team. He locked away the anger and the uncertainty. His arm lifted the gun and placed the barrel to his temple.

The metal is hot against his skin. It fights against the creeping cold that's set in. But it still causes a chill run through his frame. He starts to sweat and it irritates his wounds. Superboy's impossibly blue eyes dilate turning them black. The hand holding the gun trembles. The part of his mind that is truly conscious, knows this is wrong, and knows putting a gun to his head isn't normal. But in this moment, normal doesn't apply. Not dying is what matters. His hand becomes firm.

"…_Persona_…" Superboy pulls the trigger.

The shot that follows, cleaves metaphorically straight through his mind. His psyche shatters. An unseen force makes the before and the after disappear. What would have been is erased.

_**Thou art I…**_

Superboy is encircled by raw energy. It lashes out and forces the monsters away. Superboy's blown pupils glow an unearthly blue. It condenses and begins to take shape.

_**And I am Thou…**_

The remnants of his scattered soul come together. A torso forms…

_**From the sea of thy soul I cometh… **_

A pale face with shaggy blonde hair emerges from the dark. Immaculate red armor radiates a comforting light, covered by a sleeveless white robe with gold trimming and a golden cross on the chest. Pristine white wings illuminate the dark night and a massive, elegant white and gold sword gleams like a fiery torch.

_**I am Uriel, Angel of Penitence**_.

The archangel's voice thundered in the open. He raised his blade and sliced through the air. With a flap of his wings, the angel launched himself at the monsters. He hefted the severely heavy blade as if it weighted nothing and the sword struck true. With one swing, the first lion was hacked in two. With another, the second beast fell, crumbling into dark fragments before vanishing from sight. The jester opened its arms and bombarded the winged warrior with ice. Uriel effortlessly dodges most and parried the rest with his sword. The angel's moves were swift and graceful. Uriel raised his empty hand and an immense red flame was born.

"Uriel…" Superboy's harsh whisper managed to reach his persona.

The Archangel thrust his arm forward and unleashed an enormous fire. The jester was consumed in a sea of flames, its dying wail resounding so loud it hurt Superboy's ears. When there was nothing left except fading embers, Uriel turned to Superboy and lowered himself to Superboy's level. The persona towered over the clone. With a gentleness that belied his stern facial expression, Uriel picked up the clone, cradled him close to his chest and lifted off. Uriel carried Superboy off into the distance back to the one place, he knew the teen would receive the care he desperately needs.

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Uriel Set

Mahamaon

Maragidyne

Vorpal Blade

Fire Amp

Tempest Slash

High Counter

Megidolaon

Null Ice

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So this is chapter one and its an idea that's been bothering me for days...its here now and reviews are much appreciated.

Feedback is welcome too

For those of you who don't know...Shin Megami Tensei: Persona is a game where teenagers summon facets of their psyche, known as Personas, to combat evil entities of humanity known as Shadows. Some versions of the game have the teens summon using cards or like in Persona 3 a gun-like evoker.


	2. Asunder

I own nothing but this idea...

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Chapter 2: Asunder

"Do I dare  
Disturb the universe?  
In a minute there is time  
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse."

-T.S. Eliot

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Superboy had blacked out once he was in the air. He only came to when he felt Uriel land and place him on his back before disappearing. Superboy had questions but no answers. He had reasons and logic and information but no certainty. He had no comfort or security. He was witness to a power that emerged from inside of him. But it was also a power that was unknown, to Cadmus, to the League, to the world. He didn't know why or how. He tried to think, to understand, to look for ulterior motives or hidden agendas. It made his head pound furiously. All that he did know was that it saved his life. That was more than anything anyone else had ever done for him even against Amazo, Superboy never felt the shadow of death or the possibility of death touch him.

_So, the power of persona has to be good_, he thinks to himself. _I wouldn't be here if it wasn't_.

His headache subsided but the clone shivered. He kept his head lifted off the ground because no one knew he had left and it could be hours or days before he is found. Superboy knows he can't stay outside, not with his injuries. Still, another part of him was just…tired. He didn't want to move but he _needed_ to.

He tried to take a deep breath but choked. It hurt. Everything hurt. Superboy blinked rapidly, trying to push past the hazy sleep that settled over him. He couldn't really. He was managing to stay awake but that won't last.

Superboy forced himself to press his weight onto his good side and roll over. He opened his mouth, silently screaming. He had no air to give, no sound to give voice to. His sides were shaking uncontrollably, cold and agony pelting his already fractured mind and his crippled body. He wouldn't last long outside. His breathing was uneven and something was dripping over his eyes.

There was something wrong. Superboy gritted his teeth, braced his mind as best he could, and heaved himself off the ground. He paid no attention to the steadily growing mess of blood and filth at his feet, on his face. He didn't see it, didn't hear it. His heartbeat was erratic. It assaulted his hearing, filling his head with a thousand broken winged birds. The flesh and feathers fell away leaving blood and gore and tears. The flocks hurtled themselves at each other in a parody of a waltz. They crashed and collided, dropping limbs wherever they landed.

Superboy was standing and he wishes he wasn't. His body could not take any more abuse. But he needed to get inside where it was warm and safe and normal. A tremble invades his muscles sending a cascading wave of torture throughout his body. The clone shuts his eyes and feels his breath hitch. After a moment, he opens his eyes, manages to limp forward, then another and another. He feels numb and cold again. Even after the dark haired teen passes the entrance, the air ducts within the base venting heat, there is nothing but the pressing and biting chill.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, he can hear them. He can hear everyone. Batman, Black Canary and the other mentors are here, there, in the Cave. They are talking about rescue teams and villains and Cadmus. His teammates are asking to help, demanding to be included. From the distance they must be in the Mission Room.

He should go to sleep. Superboy desperately wants to sleep. He wants to shut his eyes and float away into the dark. He goes forward, to his friends, to the noise.

It is strange that they do not hear him, hear his footsteps, his heavy shuffling. They're talking about possible scenarios, about who might have's and who coulda's. The words wane and escalate at random to his ears. They no longer make any sense to him. The heartbeats all mesh together. He can't tell them apart.

The path to the others is clear but his vision is failing. There is dark and light and darkness again. He wants to shut his eyes and rest for eternity. His tongue is half lolled out, phlegm and blood pouring from his lips. He's panting like a dog, gasping for breath that won't come, for the air that he can't catch. The clone blinks slowly, trying not to stagger or trip over his own feet.

The clone is moving by memory now. He doesn't hear the extra heartbeat or voice of someone who normally would not be here. He is so beyond fathoming who is who or why. Superboy doesn't recognize the fluttering of another hero's cape. Superboy doesn't realize that Superman is in the Cave. He can't hear the irregular rhythm of the Krypton's heart. He cannot comprehend that the Man of Steel is worried.

He makes it to the Mission Room. He sees Superman but he also sees through him. His consciousness is receding like the tide, slow and then ceaseless. He stops at the entryway and sways on his feet.

Superboy doesn't feel cold anymore.

He chokes and a fresh surge of life passes from his lips. Drips down his chin. And splashes onto the pristine floor.

It resonates off the high ceiling and towering walls. It silences the heroes. The resulting panic and horror spreads like a pandemic. Miss Martin screams. She drops to the ground. Kaldur and Robin and Kid Flash are like statues, immoveable in their fear and denial. The reaction of the others is similar. It freezes them where they stand. The disbelief paralyzes them. The visage that Superboy presents them is one of defeat and impending demise that awaits all life.

The precious red life fluid pools at his feet. It covers his face in a twisted mockery of a mask. His expression is blank. His eyes empty. Like a doll without any strings, without purpose. The shards of ice impaled within masses of flesh, and the tint of blue over tender skin, seems like a mirage.

A minute is compressed into forever. But forever never last…

Superboy's limit lies outside, splintered in the dirt. This is as far as he can go. He can move no more. He lets his form go and falls. Superboy's mind is gone, thrown into the deepest parts of his ruptured soul, beyond pain or intellect. He lets himself become lost. It was a state he was familiar with.

His body on the other hand, even in defeat, was subjected to torment. It started to fall. This snapped the other occupants out of their shock and Superman is there to catch the teen before he ever reaches the ground.

"Superboy!" the man cries out.

He carefully places the boy on his back. His hands searching for a pulse and his sight peers through clothing and flesh and bone, to look upon the muscle that gives the clone life. Batman is there, calling out injuries, and commanding Superman to tell him more.

"Punctured lung…" the blue eyed hero whispers and Batman almost misses it.

"We need to get him to the Infirmary before he bleeds out… now Clark."

The Dark Knight's words broker no argument and get the blue clad man to move. The use of his actual name doesn't even register to him. All that matters is the limp body lying in his arms. The body of a boy who wouldn't be in this state if he had just taken him in and just that thought alone is enough for Clark Kent, Superman, Kon-El, to be rift with guilt and regret and shame. Shame because Clark Kent was raised better than that, than this. The shuttered breathing of the Boy of Steel glares at him.

He doesn't protest when the clone is taken from him. If only he hadn't been so stubborn. If only he hadn't been so foolish. If only he had taken the time to get to know him. If Superman had given him a chance, one silly, little, chance. If Clark Kent had just offered him something. Now he might be too late. And that stung more than any hit or attack ever did. Superman followed the others to the Infirmary and hoped and prayed and wished.

But no one answers.

Batman focuses solely on the teen, pale and listless. The clone doesn't twitch. When they remove the ice and fix the fracture, he doesn't even register that they're there. His eyes are open but there is no one home. He can tell. The vacant stare is one that Batman has seen before in the homeless and the torn and hopeless. Batman almost cries when the clone stops breathing. Almost. A tube is forced down his throat to breath for him.

There is so much blood and then, again, not enough. He's lost too much. Batman wants to hurl something across the room, wants to break bones and take life and all he can see is Superboy's matted hair and gorged ribcage.

All he can see is a nameless grave for a nameless boy because Superboy isn't a name. Not really.

So he pushes all other thoughts, all other irrelevant ideas or plans away because he's reaching for Superboy's life and he's determined to bring him back. He refuses to think about how much this changes things. He refuses to consider that this…attack could harm the league but it does. Batman isn't sure how but with Superboy like this, vulnerable, worn, dying, the dynamic of the world is different.

And he's right. With Uriel's awakening, powers of old take notice. They feel a shifting in the fates, in the threads that bind all things together. Mages and demons and gods all look to the deceptively innocent planet and tremble. Something was happening. Something they could not see or foretell. All along the universe, seers and prophets fall their knees, weeping, hysterical. The same words falling from their cracking, drying mouths.

"_Memento Mori! Memento Mori! Memento Mori_!"

Some of them die. Some live. But the results are the same. None are spared from the onslaught that is Knowing. One path that was open, certain, and unquestionable, dies and another that was possible crumbles into dust. Suddenly, there are whole new bridges forming, connecting and changing. Lives are altered. Beginnings are born were there were once only dead ends. Death resides were new life was sanctioned. Nothing is the same. Nothing is as it once was.

Those who watch over the Amazons wonder and fear because suddenly, they are being watched. The world of the Atlanteans shivers and becomes uninviting. They can feel that the world has awakened to something, for good or ill, they cannot tell. But they no longer feel safe in the ocean because the ocean itself feels threatening. Those who reside beyond the stars, into places unknown to mankind, feel the looming storm.

On the home world of the Green Lanturns, Oa, the power of the green ring flickers and dies. For the first time since its creation, the power of Will ceases to exist. Oa is dark and black. Fortunately, it does not remain that way. The light returns, only it is not the same. The power of the green ring is changed and all the lanterns across space can tell the difference. Their power burns brighter, hotter, and coursing through them is a Will of power beyond anything they've ever felt. It passes onto them, a fragment of the Knowing, barely comprehensible. It whispers in their minds.

"_It's coming!It's coming!It's coming!_"

It pulses along nerves and firing neurons before settling with their hearts. The Lanterns cling to this Will, to this light, and feed it. Unquestioning. Something had changed them but they were stronger for it. Something was born, god or demon, it did not matter.

Madam Xanadu sits stiffly in her favorite chair. The room is dark and she's shuffling cards. She lays them out then picks them up to shuffle again. She lays them out. She picks them up. Over and over again. She doesn't notice when she starts crying. The sorceress doesn't so much as twitch when the cards cut through the palms of her hands. She just keeps shuffling and lying the cards down. When she is surrounded on all sides by shadows and men, she doesn't acknowledge them either. When they shout and curse and demand answers, she gives them nothing. She just lets her hands move and the blood run with the cards.

"Memento...Mori…" she whispers before lifting a single card, with a skull in the center of a pair of doors, and slits her own throat.

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Review! Please and Thank You!

So sorry its so short but I didn't know how else to go forward.


	3. Awakening

Disclaimer: I own nothing but this idea! ;)

I also do not own several of the lines below. Those belong to several alternative poets and characters such as Yukari, Igor, and Pharos from Persona 3, Philemon from Persona 2, Timothy Leary, and Edward Hale.

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"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"

**-**Edgar Allan Poe

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Chapter Three

Awakening

* * *

Superboy is alive.

That's all the team of teen heroes cares about. The mentors are exhausted. Stabilizing the clone had taken some maneuvering and several blood transfusions from the Man of Steel but by dawn Superboy wasn't in danger of bleeding out anymore. The team sits with the clone, silent, in the Infirmary room. There are several machines monitoring his vitals, and for any brain activity. Robin doesn't say why Batman might have something like that. He doesn't want to acknowledge that something else might be wrong.

Superboy's room is hushed. Megan doesn't link with the others and they don't reach out. All they can focus on is the dark haired teen lying motionless under white sheets, face pale, bandages tied over the top most of his head and forehead. There are wires protruding from his arms, his chest. The tube is still there, connecting to a ventilator, breathing for him. Wally stares particularly hard, because although he can't see, he knows that Superboy's legs are an elaborate work of patches, bandages, and on one leg, a brace.

The team wants answers. One of their own has been targeted. They want to know why. They want to know by who.

But the only who has the answers is unresponsive. They can't risk seeing into his mind. Martine Manhunter tried and found a war. He could not calm or find the cause. In fact, the telepath found himself expelled from the teens mind by a surge of fire. The martin returned to reality with his hands singed and had no answer for the phenomenon.

* * *

_Ten days later…_

Artemis was introduced as the new team's archer but only Kaldur actually greets her. At first, she's annoyed and her attitude grates on the other members of the team. She assumed the cold front was because she was replacing another archer. Green Arrow and Black Canary had to take her aside after Megan burst into tears that had Kid Flash and the boy wonder glaring at her.

Finding out that another member had almost died and might not wake up, had shut her up real quick.

She went to see him and didn't stay long. But she tries and the others don't give her hassle for it.

Superboy is still sleeping.

And they know he's sleeping. He isn't in a coma. The increase brain activity reassures everyone that the teen will wake up soon. Manhunter had tried again several hours ago to reach for his consciousness. He was only partially successful. The telepath was still forced out by the inferno, but the war that he had trespassed across shimmered to a low crawl. Superboy was found in the middle. He didn't acknowledge the alien but something else did.

Something had tried to set him aflame. He theorized this was a facet of Superboy's psyche trying to recuperate from the trauma and was adapting at a rapid and aggressive manner. However, despite concerns that this might have changes in his personality, it was also a sign that the teen should awake at any moment.

That seemed to rejuvenate the other teens. Megan started cooking again and Wally even started to crack jokes. Robin lets his signature mad cackle fill the cave from wherever he's hiding. Kaldur smiles lightly from his seat as he watches Megan move about the kitchen and Kid Flash vibrate to and fro. It was a transition Artemis watched with awe.

The team was catching its second wind. They were gearing up and Artemis felt a rush course through her. She fingered her bow and checked over her arrows, making sure each was secure and not malfunctioning.

Something was going to happen and she wanted in.

And something was.

* * *

Superboy is standing in an atrium of gold. Beyond this place is nothing. Strange as everything was, he didn't feel threatened. Nothing hurt in this place. His ears didn't ring; his head didn't pound or burn. There was a tenderness caressing his arms, his shoulders. It crawled along his chest, tracing the contours of his entire form. He can't help but shiver when it follows the spine of his back.

There is a man with a white mask. There is a purple butterfly wing over the right eye. He is dressed in a white oriental suit with a black undershirt and tie. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. It flowed behind him in a lazy manner.

"Welcome…" he gestures around him with his hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Philemon, a dweller between consciousness and unconsciousness."

"Is this a dream?"

"Indeed, you are fast asleep in the real world even as we speak. This visit of yours is merely a dream. And now, a simple test. Can you tell me your name?"

His voice echoes all around them, deep, smooth, and obscure. He takes his time speaking as if he had eons of time to spend. Superboy doesn't know why he's here. But Philemon is polite and just being there is like a balm that eases something inside of him, the cool touch over scorched skin. He wants to know if Philemon has an answer for him.

"Superboy…"

"Splendid." He nods to the teen, "This place exists between dream and reality, mind and matter. There aren't many who can remember their identity when in this domain. It seems you pass that test."

He points at Superboy.

"You appear to have awakened to your power and fallen into a deep slumber. Do not be alarmed. It is nothing to be worried about. So do enjoy your stay…and I see that it was Uriel who heeded your calling. The power you possess is called a _Persona_…it is a manifestation of your psyche."

"_Persona?_"

Superboy remembers calling out that word, remembers reaching for something, hoping something or someone would hear him, help him and miraculously getting an answer. Something answered him when he needed help the most and it was…Uriel…? Uriel was his persona?

"Yes, a Persona is a facet of your personality that surfaces as you react to external stimuli…you can think of it as a mask that protects you as you brave many hardships. It is the self suffused with divine love…the self capable of demonic cruelty…People live by wearing different masks..."

Philemon raises his hand, palm facing up, and light gathers there. It doesn't hurt to look at. It's soft and warm and not unlike when he pulled the gun's trigger.

"You though…," a figure forms in the light.

It's familiar. It is Uriel. Uriel is crouching in Philemon's palm, his arms placed across his chest, his sword gripped in one hand, blade aimed at the ground and his wings are arched over his form.

"You have a strong grip on your identity. I respect your strong will. So, from this moment forth, you and your persona will fight for a greater purpose…because your existence and the very future is at stake. Time is already up. You cannot remain oblivious."

"I-I can't!" Superboy chokes out, suddenly afraid. So, _so_, afraid, like a child who discovers how frightening the world is when the lights go out. "There's only one of me. I'm alone and I'm not Superman! I'm not even like him! I'm just…just…"

His voice dies. He can no longer say what he is. Superboy turns his gaze to his feet, to the marble floor. He didn't want to start crying again.

"You are one but still you are one…" the somber teen raises his eyes to the masked figure, "you cannot do everything but still you can do something. Do the unexpected. Find the others…"

The angel vanishes and Philemon folds his arms elegantly in front of him. "Together you, your persona, and those like you will break the chains bound together by karma."

"Others? W-what?"

He didn't understand. Nothing made sense here and yet, again, it did. But that didn't stop the uncomfortable sensation of being overwhelmed. This was something greater him-bigger than him- but…others? There were others like him?

"You're awakening has roused others with the same ability. Should they evoke such power, they, too, can no longer remain insensitive to what comes. Innocence is no longer yours to own. In exchange for power, you can no longer look away from the things you do not wish to see."

Philemon extends his hand, closed into a fist, before slowly opening it. A butterfly sits patiently in his palm.

"You are the _Catalyst_, The Aeon, lost as you are, you stir The Fool. Unfortunately, those who remember have since passed from the world…those who hear but do not comprehend, tremble at your rebirth…and those who flee, will find no haven in which to hide."

A memory tickles Superboy's mind, telling him that there is a connection. There is something important, something he's forgetting and Philemon's words coax it out bit by bit.

"The world you once knew is now changed..."

It creeps up from the depths, unhurried and potent.

"You will learn no one can escape time…It delivers us all to the same end..."

It nuzzles the space just behind his comprehension.

"You cannot plug your ears or cover your eyes."

It feels like an apology…

"Now, you must return," He nods gracefully, "to your proper time and place."

The little blue and green creature lifts itself from Philemon's hand, and flutters into Superboy's vision. Everything turns white and the gold atrium disappears from his sight.

Here the memory strikes.

It pierces through his awareness, cleaving a vicious path, leaving cracks and crevices behind. Old scars are ripped open, the angry edges left in tatters, red and bleeding. A red swell grows and filters along after the memory. New rents form, constructing jagged fissures leading to nothing, not blackness nor emptiness but to the very void where the self goes to die… and it threatens to swallow Superboy whole.

He struggles to push it back. He doesn't want it, want the memory. He doesn't want what it brings because he knows it will engulf him so completely, he will lose himself. It will change him and he doesn't know how. He's afraid.

It does not take long for it to conquer him. It already has roots there. Then he is drowning. It floods every corner of his essence. It leaves nothing untouched, not even the parts he never knew existed. His mind hemorrhages with the knowledge it brings. And just before he believes he will dissolve into nothing, hands reach into the swirling, rolling, crimson sea, and pluck him from its depths.

He is embraced in strong, friendly arms. He looks to his savior to meet Uriel's shining visage. The angel's wings are soaked through and keep him from flying but the persona keep the pair afloat. Superboy doesn't fight Uriel's hold, doesn't try to brave the churning ocean around them. He clings to the golden haired angel, letting the current take them wherever it may, and closes his eyes.

* * *

Superboy wakes up in the Infirmary screaming.

It is not a sound of victory or triumph. It is one of absolute primal terror. It is the kind of fear that burrows itself beneath the bones and in between the cracks of the soul. His body jerks and twitches, eyes wide, face covered in tears, voice raw and loud. The screaming doesn't stop when members of the League rush to his aide. Not even when arms stronger than steel circle him, keep him still. Instead, Superboy thrashes within the hold because he doesn't recognize them. They are not the arms of Uriel.

After days of uncertainty, Clark Kent, had come to several conclusions. The first, and most important, is that Superboy, despite the circumstance was his _son_. Even if he wasn't planned, he needed someone and as much as it pained the Son of Krypton to admit, Batman and Canary were not enough. So the hero had promised to be there when his son woke but it didn't prepare him for this. No one is prepared.

The teen fought with all of his superhuman strength. He arches off the bed, in a desperate attempt to break Superman's hold. Wonder Woman and Red Tornado are quick to hold the clone down. The older hero doesn't look away from his son, from the fear carved into his young face. The teen's echoing wail hurts his ears but he refuses to let go of Superboy to protect them.

When he finally stops fighting, it is not by choice. He runs out of breath, wheezing and rasping for air. He meets Superman's eyes and the teen feels a piece of the answer reverberating beneath his skin.

"He's suffocating!" Canary yells.

Batman is already moving an air mask over the clone's face. He pressed the mask over Superboy's face and the teen inhales deeply. Between each breathe, he whispers the words.

"…_Me…men…to….Mori_…"

Superman only lets him go when Superboy's breathing evens out. He lays the tired teen back on the bed. Everyone is quiet for a moment. Flash vibrates very minutely, trying not to make a hole in the floor. Green Arrow places an arm around Black Canary's shoulder. Diana gently massages the muscles she had roughly held not long age. Red Tornado stands motionless, analyzing Superboy's condition. Batman rounds on Superman.

"What did he say?" The red caped hero says nothing, forcing the Dark Knight to grab his attention. "…Clark."

Alien blue eyes turn to the Gotham hero before returning to the exhausted teen.

"'Memento Mori', is what he said."

The tension that grows within several of the heroes is not missed.

"Meme-what?" Green Arrow frowns, "What does that mean?"

"It is Latin…" Zatara's voice answers from the door way. The others turn to the grim faced magician. Superman bristles at the look Zatara gives his son. It's one he can't read.

"Well?" Arrow snaps. The blonde doesn't like how thick the air is getting.

"It means…" The magician hesitates before plowing on, "_Remember that you will die_."

* * *

Yay! Its done! Just to let you guys know. I will be alternating between the three stories with Conner so don't worry! I'm still working on the others! Rotating this way keeps me from losing inspiration.

Now, please review. I like hearing from you. Oh! That rhymed! :)


	4. Old Bonds

Trauma 4

* * *

"Nothing was the same ever since you left. Many have came and went but they remind me of the past. I was such a fool of letting you go, now I miss you." - Sifiso Robeni

"I wanted to text you, but then I remembered we don't talk anymore." -Carolina Vidal

* * *

Chapter 4: Old Bonds…

It has been a full week since Superboy's awakening.

Black Canary brushed strands of her blonde hair out of her face with one hand. An exhausted expression dominates her entire demeanor. She makes her way to the Zeta Tubes but her pace is slow. She notices other members of the league who share her disposition. They are just as weary and run down as she is. Everyone's on edge. There were too many things happening at once to be coincidence. Madam was dead. Black Adam had gone AWOL and even the usually happy Captain was starting to twitch. Although, Canary suspected it was because he knew something or at least had an inkling of what was going on and was fighting the urge to run for the hills.

She sighed heavily as she made it to the corridor leading to the tubes. The Lanterns were also wired and frantic and she worries about possible trauma. She flinches as the idea of trauma brings one specific teen to mind. One that's at the very center of the storm that was starting to show itself and she wasn't even sure if he had the fortitude to endure it.

She programs the tubes for the Cave and tries to think of something to say. She stands a little straighter and takes a deep breath.

All she wants to do is cry.

"Canary."

She turns around and comes face to face with Superman. Even he is brought down by everything that's happened. His shoulders are slumped and there are hints of shadows underneath his eyes.

"Going to see the kids?" There is a sad smile on his lips. "I was hoping you could give me your opinion."

Canary closes her eyes and lets a few tears escape before quickly turning around and brushing her face clean.

"About Superboy?" She doesn't turn to him but he moves to stand next to her.

"No." There is a tone in his voice that is heavy and broken but she can't really name it without seeing his expression. "About Conner…Conner Kent…"

Canary's breathe hitches and she can't stop the automatic reflex to look the Man of Steel in the face. There was a light in his eyes. Something strong and vulnerable. She felt the familiar sting and the blurring of her vision as a fresh wave of tears spills along her cheeks. Canary smiles at Superman.

"I can do that." She feels her smile grow and surge of energy rushed through her, "I'm sure he'll be very happy, too."

Superman gives a small smile of his own before straightening his back. Canary steps through the tube and out into the Young Justice base. She stops abruptly at the sound of laughter. Superman stops right next to her, also surprised. Ever since Superboy's grave arrival, the Cave had been absent of any true laughter. There was the occasional chuckle but this was full out joyous noise. The two heroes follow the sound.

They find the team in the kitchen. Food fighting. Conner is smiling while he tosses a handful of pudding at Artemis. The two heroes stand well out of the way of the flying food. They stand transfixed as a perfectly bright smile blooms across the clone's face. The rest of the team is also happy, laughing and joking as they cover each other in food.

There is only one small, bleak spot with this moment. Superboy only smiles but no laughter passes his lips. They should have expected it. They don't. The laughter had given them hope, small and fragile. Superman closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Canary fights back tears. They compose themselves quickly before making their presences known.

"Having fun?" Canary calls out. The teens stop and turn to look at the new arrivals. They offer sheepish but happy smiles.

"We'll clean the mess!" Kid Flash rushes to say. The other members of the team give similar answers, still smiling. Everyone except Superboy. He doesn't say a word.

Superboy hasn't spoken a word since his awakening.

Both heroes feel a part of themselves crack and chip away at the one mark that tarnished the teen's happy disposition. But they push those feelings away as best as they can.

"Well, that's good." Superman chuckles, "But it's late. _Conner_ and I need to get home."

The emphasis on Superboy's new name brings a speechless quiet to the group. The teens all widen their eyes in shock.

"Wait…" Robin turns to his teammate, "Conner, as in _Superboy _is Conner? And _home_ as in with you?"

"Yes," Superman quickly replies, his entire focus on the hybrid, "that is…if you want?"

The clone opens his mouth, eyes still wide, and quickly snaps it shut. He swallows and takes a deep breath but when he tries again, he chokes. Tears start to gather in his eyes and with his lips pressed tightly shut, shakily nods his head.

"Okay, then." Superman gives his son a gentle smile, "Let's go get your things."

That's how Superboy becomes Conner Kent and how Clark Kent gets a son.

* * *

Clark can feel his shock seeping into his expression and really it's no surprise. There have been little things over the past few weeks that have created a…disturbing idea about his son. There was the way he walked for one. As a teen Clark had been clumsy and unsure but Conner moved confidently. The only issue the mentors had was that Conner was too confident in his body and the heroes had just brushed it off. They had assumed it was the information that was "downloaded" into the clone that didn't transition into actuality. But Clark was sure that even that kind of jarring misinformation would be enough to make Conner a little bit more cautious.

That didn't seem the case.

No, even with his silence, Conner walked tall and clean. His stride was always crisp and efficient. There wasn't any wasted energy. It reminded him of an old friend from Smallville who teetered between good and bad…

But he was learning to relax more so Clark could see how his son transformed from child soldier to hero teen. The adjustment was complicated with Conner's condition but thankfully, they had found a system to work with. It worked because it was familiar, scarily familiar.

Conner would arch his eyebrow just so, to convey mild disbelief. He would tap his finger on the nearest surface expressing his impatience or to channel his nervous energy. It was all reminiscent of a time when he was young and hopeful and oh so easily happy. It reminded Clark of a time when the highlight of his day was playing pool or watching a movie with his best friend. He dreamed and hoped but reality and people crushed those few precious things. Conner reminds Clark of that time he aimed to defy the destiny of his father and had accepted the fate of his other father without ever really seeing the possibility of making his own path, of making his own choices.

Clark had been trying to get Conner engaged with the world, to get the teen to find his likes and dislikes, to try new things.

Conner liked blueberries. He liked Japanese cartoons and television dramas with crime like the Law &amp; Order series and medical like House, M.D.

He prefers mystery movies over comedy. Conner does not like the color white or long coats or tights.

Eventually, the pair made the decision to visit the book store and Clark told Conner to explore. As he watched the clone make his way around, however, Clark noticed another familiarity that struck the Man of Steel in his heart. Conner's eyes brightened with a keen curiosity that could belong to only one other. For a minute he felt the tell-tale gathering of tears before he forced himself to look away. He took several deep breathes before managing to regain his composure. When he turned back to watch Conner, however, he found the teen standing right next to him.

Conner shuffled his feet as he held a book close to his chest. It was a cover the man was familiar with, having seen it treated with exceptional care.

It was a Warrior Angel comic.

Clark looks into Conner's hesitant eyes and smiles. The bright look that crosses the teens face makes something warm and painful bloom in his chest. It feels like regret and love wrapped in a bundle. _It's a start_, he thinks…

* * *

"Here's the intel you wanted, sir."

A nondescript man covered in full armor hands over a generic data stick onto an expensive ornate desk. A tanned hand reaches over and plugs the stick into the side of a large computer monitor.

"Is there anything else Mr. Luthor, sir?"

"No. This will be all for now. You have your orders. Don't disappoint me. " Lex Luthor dressed immaculately as always, gives the man a hard look before turning to his computer.

"Of course, sir." The man gives no indication he is fazed by his employer's threatening demeanor but removes himself from the office at Luthor's clear dismissal.

The billionaire settles into his seat, and opens the file. Large windows and documented reports slither their way across the screen. Luthor frowns as he shifts through the information before him. There is a persistent nudge from the back of his mind, tiny and quiet. But it is there. It is a reminder of a life before corruption and hate. It is the spark born from Clark Kent's benevolence and which Lionel Luthor went to great lengths to utterly decimate.

But the mind is a machine. It was not made to forget, not completely. The inferno that was Lex Luthor's love of the fantastical and extraordinary, which feed his curiosity and obsessions, was doused by betrayal and secrets and prejudices and an old man's ambition. Lionel Luthor would not have his son be anything less than cruel and cold like the arctic glaciers. It was by the might of the father that the grace and glory of his son was violated.

Like with all fires, however, the embers remain.

After years of struggle, of curling in the dust and dirt, the embers sparked. Something shifted and moved. The forgotten pieces of his mind came together but did not push. The mind remembers scars, remembers pain. The memories gather and thrive, waiting for when consciousness calls to them-for when Lex Luthor willingly reaches for them.

They wait for the spark to become a forest fire.

They will not have to wait long. This time, there is no one to scatter them to the shadows beyond unconsciousness.

Luthor pulls up a picture and enlarges it until it fills the entire screen. It's a picture of Clark Kent dressed for a day out, in formfitting jeans, sneakers, a plain blue short sleeved button up, and his signature glasses. The man is sitting on a large quilted blanket against a tree in Metropolis Park with a book in hand. Lex's eyes trail over tanned kissed skin and defined muscles.

_Was Kent always so…?_, Luthor's thought fades off and he leans back in his chair. _Was he always Kent? Wasn't there a time…a time when he was Clark?_

The sudden sharp throb of his temple distracts him. He presses two fingers against a vein and message the tender flesh there. He changes the image, quickly, and the next image sends his body into a torrent of hot and cold.

On the screen, Clark isn't alone. Another sat with him on the same blanket. There is a teen with him…with the same blue eyes. He was reading a comic, the photo was top line, and the title of the comic glared at him. The tree over head gave a natural shade to the reading pair. The teen sat against the trunk of the tree behind him. He wore tan cargo pants with a red t-shirt and matching red sneakers. But there were also little things that snagged the billionaire's eye. They came to him in a rush.

Details so small and seemingly unimportant appeared in the center of his mind so rapidly his head started to swim. But the one thing that broke him, utterly shattered him, was the look on Clark's face. He was smiling…and Lex Luthor _knew_ that smile!

The spark flared.

Lex Luthor fell to the floor clutching his head, eyes shut and jaw started to spasm.

Memories flooded his vision. There was nothing but a torrent of life and history clawing and growing. There was Clark and Lionel and Cleo and Lana and Lois and Nixon and faces and faces, everywhere. There were lies and secrets and _secrets_!

Lex Luthor sobbed, tears trickling down his cheeks and falling to the lavish carpet floor.

He shivered. He was cold all over. Colder than the chill and ice of the north glaciers. There was fear and loneliness and agony. But there was Clark. Clark and his smile. Clark and his bronze skin glistening with sweat. Clark and his cheeks blushing red. Clark. Clark. Clark.

Clark tearing the roof off of his car. Fighting Clark in the Fortress.

Lex Luthor lay twitching on the ground. Slowly the rage ebbed into a light drizzle. There was an echo of the old and new. They bleed into each other. They molded, fitting the pieces and fragments that were once jagged and incomplete into new forms. He felt hollow and light. The world was less dark, less evil and cruel and ugly. He raises himself onto this hands and knees, limbs shaking.

He manages to get a grip on to his desk and hoist his body into his chair. His breathing is irregular and heavy. After a few deep breathes, when he thinks he has a grasp on his composure, looks up again. He loses it.

Lex remembers tanned skin lying before his fireplace, smooth and unblemished. His cock hardens and his breathing starts to become erratic. His eyes darken in lust, pupils blown. Thin lips part for a moist pink tongue to glide across. Luthor doesn't look away from the photo. There, in the picture, was the teen he had claimed as his own. That same teen was now a man. That same man sat next to his progeny, his blood, with such a caring expression.

…And Luthor's expression darkened further.

That was his _Clark_.

That was his _son_.

_Their _son.

Luthor reaches for the phone on his desk. The person on the other end answers on the first ring.

"I have new orders for you." He straightens in his seat. "And keep it clean…"

…And if there is one thing that is unchanged between the Before and the Now, is that Luthors _always_ got what they wanted.

* * *

Sorry its so short. But I've been busy with school and work. Plus this new internship I got in a magazine! So crazy happy I cried. Like literal tears. My friends had to group hug me to calm me down. But I'm happy and I'm going to try to post more. They might not be as long as they usually are but I'll try. Thanks guys!


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